


The Hunt

by Elektra Pendragon (elekdragon)



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Alternate Identities, Alternate Universe, M/M, arrow kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-07-26
Updated: 2002-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-15 05:13:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elekdragon/pseuds/Elektra%20Pendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a dark AU, Legolas proves to an Uruk that he can take him on</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> It's a slightly different world than the movie. The darkness has spread to the hearts of Man, Elf, and Dwarf. Sauron slowly gathers his strength, but The Ring is still lost. Evil takes many forms, many lives, and it is growing. Legolas is going through a phase; I call it TeenAngst!Legolas (from the original plotbunny of "what happens when Elves go through puberty?"). Extra special thanks to my darling betas Layna and Sleeps With Coyotes; they deserve credit for making this story much better than it first was.

The moon hid in the shadows of a cloud, refusing to show his face beyond a slight hinting of his form in the lattice of darkness. Only a few stubborn stars dared to glitter tonight. The forest was murky with a blackness that crawled through the trees like a giant snake, curling around the trunks with a crushing strength. Few sounds escaped into the air at this time of night. Most creatures, like the moon, hid themselves, waiting for a safer time to face the world.

Legolas, however, did not cower from the darkness. He stood boldly in the lighter shadows near the river, his pale skin glowing in the night. His face was down-turned, though his long hair was braided back to reveal the curve of his cheek. As he stared at his reflection in a smooth-surfaced eddy, his mouth twisted in an ugly scowl. Even with his braids dyed and ragged, even with one of his ears covered with Orcish piercings, even with his clothes black as the night, he still looked like an Elf.

Too young. Too pretty. Such a hypocrite. Like the rest of his race.

Angrily, Legolas slashed the toe of his boot through his reflection, turning his face away from the sight. Elves were pathetic creatures, too full of themselves and their mythically heroic reputations to ever open their eyes and see the world as it truly was. If they didn't learn to take a good look at the world, to go outside their well-protected homes for one minute and notice the changes, they would all be destroyed.

Not that Legolas cared what happened to the Elves. They could all fall into the Void for all he cared.

Somewhere in the gloom, a twig snapped. The echo of footsteps on detritus grew in volume. Legolas turned his back on the pool, facing his visitors. As if drawing their very essence from the shadows, three dark and twisted forms stepped out of the night, surrounding Legolas.

Orcs, on the other hand, weren't the hypocrites their ancestors were. Here were creatures that knew what life was. They traveled the world, hunting for the dark places. They knew pain and anguish and fear and hatred, all those things that the Elves have forgotten. Best of all, they knew what fun was. After a few centuries, one needs a little fun.

"There you are," Legolas called out to the approaching forms slithering through the tree-shadows. "I thought we were going to meet at sundown."

The taller of the three Orcs twisted his mouth--either smile or grimace, though Legolas found little difference in the two expressions. The movement made the line of piercings across his top lip tinkle together musically. Another thing he had learned from the Orcs--the art of piercing. "It was too bright, Golas," the creature said simply, his eyes casting about, haunted, through the treetops. "We had to wait until it was completely dark."

"Cowards," Legolas teased warmly. He turned his back on his companions and stared out into the vast stretch of the river. "So, Ishtakh, any good game tonight?" he asked, vaguely bored.

"Well, we did bring--"

Before the Orc could finish his sentence, Legolas readied his bow. He felt...something. Something like a threat or a shadow in his mind, and he was instantly aware and wary. A large form, bigger than the Orcs, coalesced from the darkness. The Elf aimed his arrow straight at the heart of the new visitor. Which just so happened to be behind Ishtakh's head.

"Erm," the Orc said, going cross-eyed trying to look at the arrow, standing perfectly still. Legolas may be an ally, but that didn't mean he wouldn't kill Ishtakh.

"Who's your friend?" Legolas prompted offhandedly, nudging the arrow tip further into Ishtakh's forehead.

"That? Oh, that's just Ragnarukh." Ishtakh tried to make his voice sound as casual as the Elf's, but it came out rather hissed and clipped. Probably wondering if it was a bad idea to bring someone else along.

"An Uruk?" Legolas asked, still cool and careless.

Ishtakh swallowed hard. "I didn't know that your kind had knowledge of the Uruk-hai."

"My...kind," he pronounced distastefully, "have yet to remove their heads from their collective asses long enough to notice the new Orc presence in the Mirkwood. I, however, have heard the rumours." Legolas didn't remove his arrow from its mark, but he did relax his stance to observe the Uruk better.

The rumours were true. The Uruk was a prize specimen. Taller than an Elf and better muscled, he towered over the Orcs. His ears were elegantly pointed, but his face was more like an animal's. When he moved his lips back in a grimace, it revealed sharp teeth like a wolf's. His clothing was similar to the leather and metal garb of the Orcs, barely concealing the thick muscles bulging beneath. Even more interesting than the obvious physical prowess, Legolas could feel the power inside the Uruk, could sense how alike they were, and yet how completely different. It was...exhilarating.

As Legolas continued to stare openly at the Uruk, the creature became agitated, taking it as a threat. The growl began as a slight noise, like thunder in the distance, but it rolled forward, growing louder and louder as Legolas refused to look away. The Elf could feel it rumble in his bones, shaking him like a rough caress up his spine until the sound reached out and grabbed him by his throat.

Legolas lowered his bow completely, and, ignoring the sigh of relief from Ishtakh, he shoved the Orc out of his way and stood before Ragnarukh, their chests only inches apart. With every heavy breath the Uruk took, the metal of his chestplates rubbed together, making him sound like one of the Orcs' creaking machines, yet all too alive. The growling increased in depth, not volume, and Legolas couldn't help letting his head fall back a little, luxuriating in the auditory massage that was the noise. Even as his mind told him how dangerous this powerful stranger was, Legolas' body reacted with intense arousal.

The Uruk stepped closer until the polished points on his chestplate nudged the black cloth of Legolas' tunic. His nostrils flared as he took in the scent of the Elf. Then his mouth twisted--not a snarl this time, but a leer.

"What are you thinking, pretty one?" he asked, and his voice was as deep and as resonating as the animal-like growl. Oh, Legolas could imagine orgasming to that voice alone. The quiet hisses of whispers faded into the background as Legolas deliberately ignored the fidgeting Orcs. When compared to Ragnarukh, the lesser creatures could no longer hold his attention. He had spent years running with the snaga, playing their games. The Uruk was a new toy, one he would be able to have so much delicious fun with.

"I wonder if the rumours are true?" He moved his answer into a question as he again took in Ragnarukh's body, mentally mapping out the large muscles and the almost hairless skin. Legolas tilted his head and bared more of his neck to the Uruk, offering himself as blatantly as he could, knowing the creature would understand. Watching the subtle change in the Uruk's face, he asked, "How good of a hunter are you?"

The broad chest expanded as the Uruk inhaled deeply the scent of Legolas' arousal. "Better than you, pretty one. Better than any Elf."

"Hmmm...." Legolas drew out, purring it in his throat. The noise had a similar effect on Ragnarukh as the Uruk's growling had on Legolas. His yellow eyes narrowed as his pupils dilated further in the darkness, making them glitter like the stars. "Modest too. You really were bred with every advantage."

Absently the Elf rubbed the end of his arrow, still at the ready in his bow, against the line of Ragnarukh's thigh. In response, he purred dangerously with every testing stroke. Legolas could feel no give whatsoever in the pure muscle of the leg. Ragnarukh would be able to run incredibly fast, but his movements wouldn't be as agile as Legolas' lithe body allowed him to be. The powerful creature would be a challenge to take on. Exactly what Legolas was looking for.

Stepping away, Legolas returned the arrow to the quiver on his back. "How about a contest to find out? Prove your," he paused, as though thinking. "Hunting skills?"

"What shall we hunt, Elf?" he asked, fingering an arrow in the bag on his hip.

"/You/ shall hunt /me/."

The Orcs hissed loudly in terse shrieks of noise, drawing Legolas' attention back to them. Burzi and Akhdûl stared in shock, their ember-red eyes darting between the Elf and Uruk in an almost comical unison. Ishtakh shook his head, his hands making little negating gestures as he tried to surreptitiously signal the foolish Elf. Legolas glared at the three sharply, and they fairly withered under his annoyed gaze. He knew what they were thinking and didn't appreciate their lack of faith.

When Legolas turned back to Ragnarukh, he found the Uruk was watching him carefully, observing his handling of the lesser Orcs. Lynx-eyes scanned the Elf's face and body. With a quick flash of fangs, Ragnarukh made a noise, much like rocks rolling down a mountain slope, which must have been laughter for the amusement in his eyes.

To demonstrate his serious intentions to both the amused Uruk and the doubting Orcs, Legolas stalked over to the cowering trio and handed over his bow to Burzi. He made a show of removing the knife-harness and quiver from his back, giving these over to the Orc as well. The short creature clasped them to his chest for a moment, watching the Elf with a curious expression. When Legolas nodded his head, Bruzi crept over to a nearby tree, wherein he stashed the weapons in a hidden nook for safe retrieval later.

Free of the weight of his weapons, Legolas rubbed his hands over his chest, feeling acutely the absence of the familiar straps across his chest. He considered stripping off his shirt as well, but that would make it too easy for the Uruk later. All the better to leave that final barrier to his skin, to make the hunter work for bare flesh. Legolas turned around to face Ragnarukh and lifted his hands, showing that he was completely unarmed. "What, you think you can't take me?" he teased, haughtily goading the Uruk into accepting his challenge.

Ragnarukh bristled at the insinuation, but the humour remained in his eyes. "I can take any Elf. Though I doubt you would survive it."

Anger flared in Legolas' chest at the Uruk's insistence in calling him 'Elf.' He loathed his race, and all its hypocrisies. In every way possible he tried to present himself as something strong and deadly--more Orc than anything else--and it galled him to be called by that hated name. He hid his annoyance under the guise of a seductive smile. Legolas approached Ragnarukh with long strides, letting his hips sway suggestively. He leaned his chest against the rough chestplates of Ragnarukh's armour, pressing one thigh between the Uruk's legs. Beneath the thick leather of the kilt, Legolas could feel the heavy weight of Ragnarukh's genitals. They were as generous as the rest of his body. He pressed up, keeping it light enough to be enticing, but hard enough to let the Uruk know his seriousness. "Oh, I think I can make do."

One side of Legolas' mouth curved up in a quick, deadly grin as he pressed harder, adding an edge of pain to his touch. The Uruk grimaced slightly, but didn't pull away. "And don't call me 'Elf.' My name is Golas." He quickly jerked his knee upwards, slamming it into the Uruk's crotch, then turned away to walk towards the shadows of the trees, not watching for Ragnarukh's reaction.

Large hands gripped his shoulders roughly, hard enough to leave bruises as the claws dug into the flesh. Legolas was jerked backwards, slamming painfully into the pointed armour. Ragnarukh's head pressed against his, forcefully rubbing against his hair momentarily before sharp teeth nipped at the rings piercing his earlobe. Hot breath brushed against his skin as Ragnarukh snarled, "That isn't like any Elfish name I've heard, pretty one."

The touch and the voice was harsh, but Legolas could feel the hard bump of an erection against his ass. He hid a smile, knowing that he had played the Uruk correctly. If his time with the Orcs had taught him nothing else, it was that sex and pain were often equal to their dark kind; hostility and aggression a kind of foreplay. Legolas leaned back against the rough chestplates while shamelessly grinding his hips against Ragnarukh's groin, transforming the threatening hold of the Uruk into something more intimate. He turned into the face that was pressed to the side of his head, his tongue darting out to lick bared teeth. Ragnarukh tasted like blood, and Legolas licked him again, savoring the metallic tang. When his own breathing became ragged, he whispered, "I'm not like any Elf you ever heard of, either. If you can catch me, you can find out just how different."

The claws tightened, piercing his shirt and scratching the skin of his arms. Legolas shivered, willing the sharpened tips to tear open his flesh. Instead, the grip lessened, hands sliding down in a rough caress over his arms. The support disappeared from his back, and Legolas fumbled for a step to regain his balance. He looked over his shoulder to see Ragnarukh calling for his black bow. The Uruk looked at him from the corner of his eye, a wicked grimace on his face. "Run, pretty one, and see if I don't catch you."

Taking only a moment to gather his breath, Legolas winked at the minor Orcs scrambling to follow the Uruk's orders and took off in a full run towards the darkness of the thick forest. Sharp eyes pierced through the shadows to cut a broken trail over brush and stump, finding the surest places to step so that he would not fall into a hidden crevice. His erection subsided slightly from the exertion, though his arousal still distracted him as he ran hart-like through the trees. Several times his thoughts wandered as he eluded his hunter, and Legolas would find himself slowing down or taking the more obvious trail. Each time he had to force his straying mind to concentrate on evading his tracker, at least long enough to keep the game interesting.

Legolas doubled back over his trail, leading Ragnarukh to confusing circles and dead-ends. At times he took to the trees, carefully jumping from limb to limb in order to leave no scent or track on the forest floor. His steps were always light enough to leave no mark, to disturb no leaf, but no matter how far or fast he ran, he could feel the Uruk's presence like a shadow in the back of his mind--a shadow that grew ever closer. It spurred him to even more daring feats, leaping over a ravine and wading into the killer torrents of the river.

His blood sang with the thrill of the hunt, the excitement of being willing prey to such an accomplished hunter. Similar games played with the Orcs always ended disappointingly at sunrise with no one tracking Legolas successfully. Of course, no Orc had ever been given the prize promised to Ragnarukh to encourage him to find Legolas. Though he sometimes took pleasure from the lesser Orcs he ran with, he rarely gave them the upper hand in sexual matters. Or any matter.

Legolas ran for miles around the forest, luxuriating in the feel of the wind through his loose hair and the cool air filling his lungs. He did not pant for breath, nor did his legs beg for a rest. His arousal never left him; in fact, the exhilaration and anticipation only served to make him crave the end of the hunt all the more. His arms still sweetly ached from the bruising grip of the Uruk. His wandering mind once again pushed aside the strategy of the hunt, preferring to imagine what Ragnarukh could have in store for him when Legolas was finally caught.

His mind so occupied, Legolas barely had time to swerve left at hearing the thrum of a released bowstring. He could feel the air split as a great arrow barely missed his shoulder, imbedding itself into the trunk of an oak instead of Legolas' body. Another thrum, and this time the flesh of his left thigh tore as a bolt grazed the outside of his leg. He cried out at the flash of pain, turning it into a laugh as he evaded another shot.

Slowing slightly, he could hear the steady pounding of iron-topped shoes through the underbrush. Ragnarukh was still far away, though gaining quickly. Even as he ran at top speed, the expert hunter was releasing deftly aimed arrows at Legolas' arms and legs, all of which the Elf avoided with quick steps and weaving movements. Legolas daringly twisted to look over his shoulder at his pursuer. Ragnarukh had stripped off his heavy outer armour and wore only the leather tunic and bag of arrows. The metal-reinforced bow was immense even in those large hands, creaking loudly as he prepared another shot. Legolas blew a kiss at the serious face, then faked a dodge to the right before turning the other way. Ragnarukh anticipated his movements.

A blur of black flashed in front of his face, and Legolas skidded to stop himself short of running head-first into the shaft protruding from a nearby trunk. The branch-like arrow quivered with the energy of the shot. It was right at eye-level with the Elf; a killing blow had it made contact with his skull. THRUM! and another bolt landed exactly parallel with the first, ruffling the hair at the back of Legolas' head. His ears grazed the shafts as he turned to face his hunter. Legolas hardly had the chance to see Ragnarukh running at top speed towards him before the Uruk was upon him. The breath left his lungs as Ragnarukh's full weight crashed into his chest, grating his back against the rough bark of the tree.

Ragnarukh's breath warmed his breeze-cooled lips; the Uruk's forehead pressed against his own, his entire body covering the pinned Elf. Legolas gulped and gasped, breathing in the heated air that left his hunter's lungs, staring into the lynx-yellow depths of his slitted eyes. The scent of iron and soil was heavy around him as he shared breath with Ragnarukh. Legolas' erratic panting slowed and calmed after a time, but not the heartbeat that crashed and shattered against the pressure of that powerful body against him.

Legolas opened his mouth, meaning to say something scathing about Ragnarukh's hunting prowess, but the scornful words left his throat as a muffled groan when his lips were crushed by the searing kiss of the Uruk. Fangs as sharp as daggers grazed his lips, hinting at the damage that could so easily be done. Legolas returned the pressure, begging for that rougher touch. Instead, Ragnarukh soothed his mouth with short tongue-swipes, tasting Legolas as the Elf had tasted him earlier. He relaxed into the tiny licks, occasionally returning them with a few of his own, his mouth tingling with the taste of blood and spice and the overwhelming heat of it all.

No Elf had ever kissed him like that. Neither had any of the Orcs that he had cared to try. It was at once devastatingly erotic, frighteningly dangerous, and clumsily innocent, as though Ragnarukh had never kissed anyone like that either. From what Legolas knew of the Orcish mating practices, there was rarely taken the time to relish such simple contact; sex was fast and brutal. This...was something else.

Ragnarukh broke the contact of their lips, turning his face to bury it in the crook of Legolas' neck. There he breathed deeply, snarling in his throat until the noise vibrated throughout the Elf's body. Legolas squirmed, his hips thrusting out to try to rub up against something, anything, to relieve the deep ache he felt, but Ragnarukh held him steady with one hand on his hip. His palm pressed painfully against the hipbone; the claws wrapped around to scrape at his side every time he gasped in a breath. Legolas gripped the arrows that flanked either side of his head, convinced that if he let go he would simply fall into a puddle on the ground. He leaned forward, resting his jaw against wind-wild hair. With the openness of his body, Legolas silently encouraged Ragnarukh to do with him as he would, conceding the hunt's trophy to the victor.

Ragnarukh began to lave at the skin against his mouth, his hot tongue scraping over Legolas' neck while his free hand shredded the front of his shirt. The claws sank just far enough to rend the fabric, only occasionally raking across his skin, and even more rarely nicking the flesh. When Legolas tilted his head back against the tree to offer better access, the Uruk left his neck to nose aside the ragged strips of fabric fluttering against the Elf's mostly-bare chest. The cool air of the Mirkwood night was imperceptible compared to the snuffling fire of Ragnarukh's breath. Wet, rough heat darted over his chest as lips and tongue tasted bare skin, stopping only to suck at the small cuts until they were raw and aching before moving insistently downward.

Two hands now pressed into Legolas' hipbones, holding his lower body completely still as Ragnarukh knelt in front of him. Cool air rushed over his chest in the absence of the Uruk's undeniable warmth; paths of cold flared with the breeze where saliva glistened on his skin. A nose pushed into his navel, nudging against the Orc ring pierced at the top of the small oval as it snuffed inside. The tickling nose left only to be replaced by a tongue that quivered to taste deeper. It thrust inside, tasting and curling, then slipped out to wrap around the piercing, tugging and twisting it away from Legolas' belly. Cool air mixed with searing breath around his navel, teasing when the Uruk's mouth left his skin. Ragnarukh's talented tongue switched between the navel and piercing, not giving Legolas time to anticipate where he would touch, how long he would stay.

Legolas started trembling uncontrollably, the conflicting hot-cold sensations almost too much for him. Ragnarukh held him up by his hips, the tips of his claws stretching over the band of his leggings to tickle at the bared skin of his torso. The tiny tapping movements could have meant to be either comforting or threatening or perhaps some twisted combination. An incoherent noise escaped Legolas' mouth, and his spine turned to water as that tongue went deep to undulate inside the dip of flesh and those nails scratched harder.

Then the tongue was gone. Ragnarukh left a short, sucking kiss around the navel, fangs clinking against the metal ring, before lapping his way straight down to the strained laces of the Elf's leggings. His high forehead pressed into the smooth, stripped belly before him as his face rubbed against the prominent bulge. Long strokes of a warm cheek across the length of Legolas' penis, testing nudges of a chin, the ticking of a nose sniffing in quick wuffs. Legolas' eyes clenched shut as he turned his face into his fist, the arrow he still clutched creaking ominously with the movement. He concentrated on the sensations the Uruk produced; the anticipation of not seeing upped his arousal one more excruciatingly pleasurable notch.

Mouth open and hovering over the cloth-covered tip of the Elf's erection, Ragnarukh sucked in a large lungful of air, making Legolas shiver with the coolness that seeped through the silken fabric of his leggings. Then the Uruk wrapped his lips tightly around the outline of his erection and huffed a quick breath out, breathing impossible heat against sensitive skin. The scorching mouth moved, breathed, sucked, but Legolas could hardly pay attention to the mechanics of it as incredible pleasure bolted through his body from every touch. He couldn't tell a shock of teeth from the cloying pressure of a tongue anymore; it was all too much, too good. He could scarcely move within the inescapable grip of the Uruk, but what little he could manage he used to rub against those pliable lips, the sharp hint of fangs, the tease of breath.

There was a deep rumbling that was almost beyond Legolas' threshold of hearing, felt more than heard as it growled against his penis. Legolas had just about completely forgotten about the Uruk's strange purring noise, he was so used to it, until it had shifted in tone. It continued to grow louder and stronger, vibrating to the very center of his body, making his insides liquefy even as his muscles locked painfully. Sensation upon sensation piled up inside, pulling him too-tight like an over-extended bowstring. He bit his lip to bleeding as his orgasm approached, so close it was intensely painful.

A single nip of those sharp, killer teeth, and Legolas was undone. His spine curled up upon itself, then straightened with a snap. His hips twitched feebly, the Uruk's powerful hands refusing them any movement as his entire body quivered and shattered inside. The arrows he gripped in his hands bent, then snapped from the strain as his upper body thrashed. The orgasm finished its ravaging of his body, and Legolas slumped forward bonelessly across Ragnarukh. The Uruk didn't strain to hold his body, but twisted, using his grip on Legolas' hips to throw him face first to the ground.

With a heavy "Umph" Legolas collapsed on the forest floor, completely unable to stop the fall in his after-daze. His cheek hit hard, and he nearly bit through his lip from the impact. He lay still, his mind floating and body numb from the aftershocks of pleasure quaking inside him. Ragnarukh gave him only a slight respite in which to recover, just enough for Legolas to remember how to breathe. Hands fisted in the loosened fabric laying across his back, and suddenly Legolas was flopping in the air, his chest and arms completely supported by his tunic while his legs kicked under him. The seams at sleeve and collar dug into his body for a sustained moment, stubbornly holding together the lost cause of his ruined shirt. A snarling growl, a boneless flop of his body, and the seams gave way.

Gracelessly, Legolas again fell to the ground. His limbs were weak and useless. Strong arms wound their way under his body to circle his hips, and once more the Elf was hoisted into the air. His legs and body were maneuvered until he was positioned on his knees, his upper body sagging forward to drag over the ground with every movement. Legolas scrambled to hold himself upright on his hands as he was released as abruptly as he was picked up. The sleeves of his ruined shirt fluttered down his shoulders to pool at his wrists, giving his hands a buffer between rough forest floor and already scuffed palms. His head swam with confusion and pleasure and a good amount of fear. He was almost delirious with it.

Claws traced over his back, following the bowed curve of his spine to the swell of his buttocks. Legolas stretched with the tease of the nails, his hips raising just a bit more in invitation. At the base of his spine, the claws scratched long, shallow marks as Ragnarukh fisted the band at the top of his leggings. Legolas had a fleeting thought of having to run through the forest naked at the end of the night, then the hands were roughly tugging downwards. The leggings fit snuggly, and they nearly tore as they were manhandled down over his buttocks. He hissed as his overly-sensitive penis was jostled and squeezed by the tight band stretched to endurance. The leggings moved easier down his thighs to his knees, yanked down with a violent force until he was laid bare.

Hot breath ghosted over his spine, and Legolas automatically tried to widen his stance. He could only move so far with his leggings trapping his knees too close together, and he struggled to work them down further on his legs. A tongue lapped at the base of his spine, licking at the shallow marks left by the claws, and Legolas stilled his movements. His breath caught in his throat at the feeling, the anticipation. When the tongue moved to the crevice between his cheeks, Legolas happily fell down to his elbows, pushing his butt up as far as he could to encourage the lapping strokes.

Ragnarukh buried his face between the soft mounds of flesh, snarling as teeth and tongue tantalized the most sensitive skin. Just a tease at first, random nippings and darting licks. A few long, shallow passes of tongue, then clawed thumbs dug into the fleshy middle of each cheek, squeezing and massaging and holding him open. Another, deeper, pass of his mouth, and Legolas could feel the fangs tear twin lines down the inside of his ass as the tongue tickled and tasted what it could reach. The shallow marks bled and stung as they were cut again and again in overlapping stripes, scoring just the outer layer of skin. Several passes were made, up and down, until he was sure Ragnarukh was tasting his blood as much as his skin.

Legolas flushed as he let out a little squeaky moan, trying to stay still as the torturous tongue that had been everywhere found out one spot it had missed. Ragnarukh paused, pulling away, then he pressed forward again, his teeth nipping playfully around the pucker of flesh. They didn't quite cut into the flesh, but the threat of the wicked fangs was there in the touch, the feeling that at any moment they could split flesh apart. Legolas tensed at feeling those dangerous teeth coming too close to the tender edges of his anus, and his body couldn't help but jerk forward, skirting away from the certainty of terrible damage.

The teeth retracted, covered with softer lips, as the hot tongue instead nudged against his opening. Relaxed and receptive once more, Legolas pushed back, humming in his throat with approval. He rolled his spine, working to find the best angle to allow the Uruk full access to his body. The strong muscle of Ragnarukh's tongue jerked, forcing its way inside to curl and move in ways that Legolas was sure were impossible. He moved quickly in and out, trembling lips around slick-flicking tongue, to coat the inside of his anus thoroughly with saliva. Drool and blood ran down to cool between his thighs.

Then the mouth was gone. Legolas hardly drew breath to groan out his anguish at the loss when strong, thick arms wound around his waist. A volcano-hot smooth chest rested against his back, solid-muscle thighs pressing against his own. Ragnarukh pushed his face into the back of the Elf's neck, his breath huffing out in a long satisfied hiss. Legolas could feel the rub of molten heat against his ass as the Uruk held him to his chest, his weight nearly suffocating as it pressed down around him, surrounding him with that impossible fire-like skin.

How and when Ragnarukh had taken off his tunic was a fleeting concern as Legolas was heaved into the air again. His hands automatically dropped to grip the arms that held him as his upper body flew off the ground. The solid presence at his back kept him calm as he was once more jerked into Ragnarukh's desired position; he leaned back into it, giving over to the Uruk's forceful demands. Legolas' knees came up off the ground, and he shifted his hips forward to allow his feet to fall to either side of Ragnarukh's legs. The ground brushed his toes, but his bent legs were suspended over the Uruk's knees, the restraining leggings keeping them from moving down to support his own weight.

The heaviness of his own body caused Legolas to fall inexorably downward onto Ragnarukh's lap. There was a blunt force against his anus, and then he was pierced, impaled, and stretching beyond fullness. Legolas couldn't help but tense from the shock of it. Hands turned into Elfish claws as his short nails bit deep into the iron-band arms around him, barely causing any damage at all. His back stiffened, and he fell forward, shifting his weight to the front instead of the back to slow his descent. He stopped falling and sat there, leaning heavily over the Uruk's arms, partially impaled and aching with it. He dropped his chin to his chest, his multi-coloured hair falling loose around his face as he tried to breathe around the stinging pain. It was too much, too fast.

It was exactly what he wanted. If only he could convince his body of that fact.

The noise was back in his conscious mind, that low purring that vibrated through his whole body. It was louder now, enough to make his ears tingle. Ragnarukh nuzzled the back of his neck, lips soothing muscles with their mouthing kisses. After several long moments, the Uruk leaned forward just a little more, shifting his cock inside Legolas' body. The Elf groaned at the movement, his hips caught between wanting to move down and wanting to move away, and Ragnarukh stopped moving.

Ragnarukh snuffled his way to Legolas' pierced ear. Golden rings forged by the Orcs lined the outer rim, pierced through and healed over long ago. Ragnarukh followed the line of piercings upwards with his tongue, clicking the metal rings together as each in turn was laved. Legolas' spine mirrored the movement in an upwards-tensing shiver as he felt each ring move within his skin, heated by the Uruk's mouth and cooled by the night. When Ragnarukh reached the pointed, pierced tip, he took it in his mouth, sucking on the skin as he wove his tongue through the ring. Legolas relaxed with the careful attentions, and he slid down a small measure upon Ragnarukh's cock before stopping, squeezing the impaling erection with a flutter of muscles. Though it was still too soon for the Elf to have more than a few interested twitches in his own cock, Legolas' pleasure threshold was quickly reaching a boiling point.

Ragnarukh released the well-teased ear point to rub his cheek against Legolas' hair, filling the air with the pleasant purring noise. The firm chest shifted against the Elf's back, letting him feel every hard, defined muscle glide against his sweaty skin, all vibrating with that rumble. If the Uruk hadn't been so volcano-hot, Legolas would have been freezing in the night air; as it was, the heat around and inside him made him feel flushed and fevered all over.

Ragnarukh inhaled deeply, then sighed, pressing his face into Legolas' hair. "You smell so good," he growled, his voice caressing in its resonant tones. Legolas shuddered at the desire he sensed within it, his body gliding down a little further upon Ragnarukh's cock. The Uruk snarled at the sensation, a deeper animal noise rising in his throat. "You /feel/ so good," he gasped between gnashed teeth. Claws flexed, fingers spasmed to rub at whatever flesh was near, lacerating tender skin.

Legolas could feel the trembling in Ragnarukh's muscles as the Uruk strained to not simply tear inside as his body was telling him to do. Despite his roughness, Ragnarukh was trying to be careful of his new lover. The Elf sneered into the darkness, feeling insulted by the idea that he was too 'delicate,' too Elfish to take a good fucking. A twinge of pain, a slight shifting inside, and Legolas tensed automatically, preventing any further movement.

'Ul'bah,' Legolas cursed to himself in his mind, 'you /are/ too Elfish to take a good fucking.' It was his own fault that Ragnarukh was treating him like an inexperienced, delicate, whimpering Elf. He was acting like one. Well, he'd just have to prove to Ragnarukh that he was more Orc than he ever was Elf.

Legolas pushed himself up with his arms, lifting his body slightly up off the Uruk's lap. He gasped helplessly through his mouth at the slow, burning pull of withdrawal as he slid upwards barely at all. But it was a pain he could definitely handle, and one that he could easily enjoy. He bounced a little, testing it, feeling his muscles perceptively loosen as he moved those bare centimeters up and down. His body adjusted quickly, and he slowed down, increasing his range of moment by small increments. He didn't feel the tell-tale stabs of pain that signaled tearing, so he knew his body could handle the Uruk's cock. Now teasing his lover rather than testing his own ability, Legolas altered the bouncing, sometimes moving up until he almost fell off, then slowly working his way back down. Each swell of movement brought new and delightfully dangerous noises from Ragnarukh's purring throat.

The next time Legolas relaxed and slid down, Ragnarukh surged up to meet him, pushing further inside than he had before. The Elf could feel the silky glide of flesh inside his body, could almost taste the strain of muscles working around it as he rode upwards on the thrust. Little gasping moans fell from the Elf's trembling lips. With a snap Legolas' head fell back onto Ragnarukh's shoulder, his body undulating as he worked to meet the unrelenting demand of his lover's cock. He gritted his teeth, determined to show the Uruk exactly how Orcish he could be. Legolas kicked his feet, straining to part his legs further, to open himself more. The new position bent his body at the right angle to allow his feet to come forward completely with the kicks, planting them firmly on the ground. The squatting angle was uncomfortable, but he finally had more control over the descent. Legolas twisted his hips again, grinding down as he pushed with the full force of his legs.

He couldn't possibly move more, he was too exhausted, too full, too stretched to his limit... And then he was resting in the Uruk's lap, burning with a fever and panting heavily. Ragnarukh's arms were a tight band across his waist, holding him down and still as they both got used to the full penetration. Running a hand over the tough muscles of one arm, Legolas gasped out, "You know, you could have helped." One powerful clutch of those arms, and he would have been imbedded in a single stroke. Bastard made him do all the work. "Kraltch," he added.

Purring contentedly, Ragnarukh didn't respond to the insult. He merely moved his face into the openly offered neck presented before him, nudging the long, sweat-straggled hair out of his way until he could once again lick at flesh. Legolas luxuriated in the tongue bath, his hips moving restlessly against the restraining arms as the rest of his body relaxed against the solid chest at his back. The brief, jerking movements of his hips brought little sparkles of fire up from his ass. Not quite pain or pleasure, just incredible sensation. After a while, the Elf could feel the heaviness in his groin signaling that his own body had caught up once more. When he tried to rub his half-hard erection against Ragnarukh's arms, the Uruk moved them away, gripping his hips with enough force to continue to hold him near-motionless. Fangs nibbled carefully on his skin, adding just enough sensation to make Legolas squirm, but not biting hard enough to break the skin.

Biting his already bloodied lip, Legolas ground out, "Now, damn you, now. Jat!" He slipped into the Orcish tongue automatically, his body almost torn over the edge of all endurance. "R'hir'a ee. Thuut ee. Clomp'a ee jat!"

A great rippling of muscle, and Legolas was lifted into the air. His hips rose up off Ragnarukh's lap, and a long searing line of agony burned inside him as the Uruk pulled almost all the way out of his body. Legolas sucked in a lungful of air, shuddering as the sensation rolled up his spine. It wasn't quite pain, not at this point in the game. His own erection bobbed in the air before him, throbbing with his own need. The purring noise changed, deepening, growing louder, more breathy. If Legolas had heard it in any other context, he would have been afraid for his life. As it was, it was an incredible turn on.

Muscles flexed, and Legolas descended, falling bruisingly hard back onto solid-muscle thighs, his back and cock twitching with the rush of stretch-pull-burn-hurt-pleasure of being impaled again.

Ragnarukh sniffed the air, and the sound grew louder. A drop of pre-come glistened at the slit of Legolas' erection. One of the Uruk's hands left Legolas' hip to wipe a thumb across the tip, smearing the liquid. When he brought his hand up to face-level, Legolas automatically opened his mouth to taste it. But Ragnarukh bypassed his mouth, slurping it into his own with a lewd noise. The purring increased, so much that Legolas could feel it inside him through their connection point. If his lover didn't hurry, he would come from that feeling alone. Thumb thoroughly cleansed, Ragnarukh slid his hand down Legolas' chest, rubbing the wet claw over a nipple.

"You taste as good as you sound, /Elf,/" Ragnarukh purr-growl-hissed in Legolas' ear. That was all the warning he was given before the Uruk buried his fangs in the meat at the base of his neck. At the same time, one hand curled around Legolas' erection, the other one digging into the Elf's chest with all five claws. The feel of the bite, the sight of those deadly black claws so near his flesh, the feel of his chest being mauled as a nail scraped delicately down his cock--any one of these alone would have been enough for Legolas, but the combination of every sensation completely unhinged him. His mind exploded from the overwhelming pleasure of it all.

Legolas lunged forward, screamed, and came, in that order. His body shook with pleasure even as Ragnarukh bent him over and pushed him face first onto the ground. The Uruk set up a quick, brutal rhythm that crushed Legolas' torn chest into the rough forest floor. He tried to push himself up off the ground, but his arms were as though detached from his body, flailing inaccurately through the leaves and detritus. The fangs were still buried in his neck, and they moved and shifted and sent tingles of tearing ecstasy into his brain with every thrust. Coughing for air, unable to control his limbs, Legolas felt his body shudder with a third, dry orgasm before he couldn't withstand any more and simply went limp in the strong arms holding him down.

After the hunting, the playing, the teasing, and the torture, Ragnarukh couldn't hold out very long. He bit down harder, nearly taking a chunk of flesh off Legolas' shoulder as he shuddered in completion. Legolas was half-conscious, and with the first throb of ejaculation he felt another small tremor of ecstasy writhe through his body. He shouted with the pleasure that was almost pain now that it was too much, and his Uruk lover joined him with a hearty, satisfied howl once the fangs were removed from his neck.

Legolas must have passed out at some point, because he was next aware of opening his eyes to find himself laying across the broad chest of Ragnarukh. The Uruk was purring lazily, lapping at the already healing wound on Legolas' shoulder. He tasted something familiar on his tongue, mixed in with his own blood. The various aches he'd expected to feel throughout his body were...lessened, but not gone. A small sip, then, of Orcish medicine, to dull pain, heal wounds, and give strength. It was a foul taste, but would do until Legolas could find some real medicine.

His whole body, but where there was injury, was boneless and satisfied. A heavy lethargy clung to his limbs, though now he could move them properly. There was a dull ache at the base of his spine, which, he was sure, would be a raging fire of pain if he chose not to be fully healed by an Elf. His shoulder felt swollen and numb around a bright tearing line of agony. Smaller spots of pain flared up as he moved, warning him of just how much of his flesh had been torn by claw or fang. Perhaps he could talk Akhdûl into giving him a bottle of his healing balm for later; it always left fewer scars than the other Orcs' stashes, though still ached like hell when applied. Legolas hated dealing with the Elves unless he absolutely had to, and was willing to forgo the more pain-free and scarless healing in order to avoid them a little longer. Sooner or later he would have to make an appearance at his father's glade, just to assure them that he was still alive and keep them out of his part of the Mirkwood, but he preferred to put it off as long as possible.

Stretching, he lifted himself up off the Uruk's chest. "Every rumour was true," he conceded, smiling greedily. "And I think I've come up with a few more to add to the mills." A little unsteady, Legolas got to his feet, unfastening his leggings and pulling them carefully back on properly. He grimaced distastefully at the feeling of cold come on the inside of the fabric. Ragnarukh stood behind him, keeping a distance of only a few feet from him. Legolas looked back at the Uruk, glancing down to see if he wanted anything else. He couldn't stop his eyes from widening.

Well, the Uruk was certainly well-proportioned, and larger in every way than the Orcs. Though not monstrous or frightening, Ragnarukh's flaccid penis was of a good size; not quite the largest Legolas had ever had, but certainly the most impressive in regards to style. The control the Uruk had made him all the more impressed; for a newborn race, he had skills that would make Celeborn of the Prissy Forest wild with envy. Of course, seeing it couldn't compare to feeling it. From the way that his ass hurt, Legolas had been sure Ragnarukh was at least four times that size. That had been part of the fun, the not knowing. It made everything more...visceral.

Legolas raised his eyes to meet the lynx-gaze of his lover. The look there was hungry, but there was no way Legolas was ready for another round, Orcish medicine or no. He smiled apologetically and finished lacing his leggings. He didn't even bother searching for the remains of his shirt; feeling chill he simply walked over to the still-naked Uruk and leaned against his chest, soaking in some of his heat.

In the silence of the Mirkwood, a few footsteps could be heard. Out from behind trees, Legolas' Orc friends came sneaking out. They approached warily, as though expecting a pissed off Uruk to greet them. As they came close enough to see through the shadows, they could smell the scent of sex and blood in the air, and could tell from the looks of them exactly what they had been up to. Akhdûl and Burzi seemed surprised that Legolas survived the coupling, their red gazes warily eying the wounds visible on his chest.

Ishtakh, though, seemed amused. He cackled something like a laugh, stepping up close to where the lovers stood. "I see someone finally had you, Golas," he hissed, one clawed hand coming out to push against his elbow in jest. Ragnarukh growled. "Now I suppose it is the rest of our turns." His hand came out again, moving towards somewhere more intimate, but he never made it that far.

Perhaps the Orc meant it all in jest. Perhaps he was serious. Legolas would never know, as just when Ishtakh reached out, Ragnarukh moved out from behind him. He caught the wrist before the hand could ever connect with Legolas' body, and snapped the bones with a clean jerk. His other hand grasped Ishtakh's throat and squeezed, claws digging in deep enough to cause black blood to flow sluggishly from the torn skin. It was all over before Legolas had time to blink, or even think to stop Ragnarukh. Had he wanted to stop him.

With a thump Ishtakh's body fell to the ground, surprisingly more useless in death than he was in life. Snarling dangerously, Ragnarukh flashed his fangs animal-like, challenging the other Orcs to step forward. The lesser Orcs cowered, then scattered before the Uruk's wrath.

Stepping over Ishtakh's corpse, Legolas cautiously approached Ragnarukh. "What was that about?" he asked, keeping his voice light and casual. Perhaps it was just some Orc/Uruk thing he wasn't aware of.

Ragnarukh turned to face Legolas, his expression falling away from the threatening grimace to something more open and calm. For an Uruk-hai, that is. Even naked and well-fucked, he looked more dangerous than any other creature in the Mirkwood. He stalked quickly over to Legolas, his nostrils flaring as he snuffed the air around him. "No one threatens my mate," he growled, the purring rising back up into his throat.

'Mate? Mate as in...? Oh, Belok.' Legolas couldn't think of a response to that, at least not one that would improve the situation. He didn't know enough about the Uruk-hai to judge how serious a mating was to their clan. Orcs never chose a single mate, but Elves could choose to stay with one forever. Perhaps the Uruk-hai were somewhere in between. As Ragnarukh took his place behind Legolas, his hands straying to the Elf's waist, Legolas thought over his situation. At least for now he'd let the Uruk think what he wanted. After all, being mates probably meant they could fuck more often. While he couldn't take another intense session this night, Legolas could stand regular interludes.

The purring quieted as Ragnarukh calmed, returning to lick gleefully at the wound on Legolas' shoulder. He winced at the lance of pain from the wound. Spotting Ishtakh's pack on the ground next to his body, Legolas decided that he would use the healing balm, plus whatever was left of the Orc's stash of Krenbluk'a cha to weather the healing.

"Ragged," Legolas said, turning his head into the nuzzling at his neck. The Uruk perked, intrigued by the new name. 'Ragnarukh,' after all, was a great deal to say, especially in moments of passion. "If you ever call me an Elf again, I will show you what an Elf does to a snaga-orc."

**Author's Note:**

> Translations: Ul'bah: Elf. Kraltch: Orkish insult. Jat: now. R'hir'a ee: Burn me. Thuut ee: Bite me. Clomp'a ee: Destroy me. Snaga: Lesser Orcs, slaves. Belok: Orcish devil.


End file.
